


Less than Perfect

by teenytinydaisydukes, xoxoPigTails (teenytinydaisydukes)



Category: League of Legends
Genre: Bottom Blondes, F/M, League of Legends - Freeform, One Shot, One-Shot, Shipping, derp, relic, summoners
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-04-21
Updated: 2015-10-29
Packaged: 2018-03-25 02:46:24
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,592
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3793765
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/teenytinydaisydukes/pseuds/teenytinydaisydukes, https://archiveofourown.org/users/teenytinydaisydukes/pseuds/xoxoPigTails
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Perfection was something she strived for but could never quite attain.<br/>Perfection was something he never even gave a second thought to.<br/>Imperfection is not great. But it's good enough. || Collection of one-shots. ||<br/>Chapter Four: She's holding on to something, and he loves to dig up secrets.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoy this! Please let me know if there are any errors or discontinuities, and I will do my best to correct them.
> 
> Thank you for reading.

“ _Have no fear of perfection – you'll never reach it.”_

\-- Salvador Dalí

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

It started innocently enough.

Grabbing lunch together after a simple League match. They discussed the match, and she discovered that he, like her, would rather be anywhere but there.

It was the first of many discoveries about him.

Their relationship changed after the League disbanded, though. Where they used to see each other on a regular basis, they now only saw each other whenever their nation's interests happened to cross, or, more often, when he decided to do some research and required the use of Demacia's archives and collected artifacts. He would stop by and speak with her, maybe grab something to eat together, and then they would both be on their way again.

It wasn't until she traveled to Piltover that she realized she had grown to care for him.

She was there strictly on business. Speak to Heimerdinger about additional techmaturgic equipment for the Demacian Vanguard, do her rounds with the elite citizens, act the role of the pretty Demacian poster girl she was supposed to be. But she was distracted by a mop of dirty blonde hair (in both color and fact) and blue tattooes.

“Ezreal!”

She'd run happily to his side. He was surprised to see her, but he didn't look displeased, and her heart did a little flip-flop. Which confused her for a moment, but she didn't dwell on it.

“Oh, hi.” He grinned. “What're you doing here?”

“Carrying out Demacian business,” she replied.

Ezreal wrinkled his nose in distaste. “Oh, gross. That doesn't sound fun.”

“No, it's not,” she admitted. “But it's necessary.”

He shook his head. “I'd just as soon leave it to someone else,” he said.

“You have no sense of duty at all, do you?” she asked, masking her sincerity with a playful laugh and a fake smile.

“Nope,” he replied. “None at all.”

 

* * *

 

 

A tunnel in the Ironspikes. This was the most unromantic place in the world, but she didn't care as his lips met hers.

“I thought it was just me,” she breathed.

Ezreal laughed.

“I didn't think I was too subtle about it,” he replied, moving a hand from her waist to gently flick her nose. She batted his hand away, letting go of his shoulders. “Do you just not know how to flirt?”

She rolled her eyes and he laughed again.

(She was still acutely aware of the hand still on her waist.)

“I shouldn't even be here, technically,” she replied.

“Who cares?” asked Ezreal.

“Not me,” she responded, standing on tip-toe to press her lips to his.

 

* * *

 

 

Danger, her mind screamed. She ducked under a blast of searing blue magic, flinching from the heat as it passed harmlessly over her. She flicked her wrist, her baton glowing, hiding herself from view by twisting the light around her.

She hadn't seen Ezreal in weeks, she'd been so busy with the military. They'd sent her undercover. She hadn't expected to be found out, and she certainly hadn't expected the Intitute to fall so suddenly.

She held her breath as her assailants ran past her, and when the coast was clear she ducked into one of the dirty, dark alleyways. She made no attempts to hide her disgust as she picked her way through the garbage and bodies, eyes darting to and fro.

Would Ezreal ask for her if she died here, in the slums of her nation's enemy? Would he even find out?

Would he even care?

She nearly screamed when an arm reached out and grabbed her wrist with lightning speed. It only took a quick glance to recognize one of her fellow – former – Champions, albeit a Noxian one.

“Shut up,” Katarina Du Couteau mumbled. Luxanna complied, though not before wrenching her arm back and slipping into a defensive stance. “Follow me. Hurry.”

Lux felt like laughing. “To my death?” she asked incredulously. “No, thanks.”

Katarina huffed.

“I'm not doing this for _you_ ,” she spat.

Understanding flashed through Lux's eyes.

“Ga–”

“Come _on_ ,” hissed the redhead impatiently.

Luxanna hesitated for a moment, then nodded.

Not waiting another moment, Katarina turned and spun away, moving so quickly it was difficult for Lux to follow her movements. She dashed across the road to the opposite alley, and after an impatient gesture, Lux followed. The traveled in silence, darting through alleys and tunnels, before reaching the wall fortifying the city-state.

Lux's heart leapt in fear, worrying she'd been led into a trap, until Katarina unceremoniously removed the grate on a sewer entrance.

“Go through here. There's only one path, and it's out.” As Lux rushed over, Katarina Du Couteau bit her lip.

“Thank you,” she said. The assassin shifted, crossing her arms. She glanced around quickly as Lux clambered into the entrance.

“Before you go,” she said, causing Lux to pause, “Just...”

Lux looked expectantly up at her, still wary.

“They know where it is.” She waved her hand. “Now go.”

Lux didn't need to be told twice.

“Tell the boy what I said!”

Lux frowned as the grate was replaced, shrouding her in darkness. A quick pulse of magic into her casting wand made it glow brightly, granting her vision again, and she continued on her way down.

_What boy?_

 

* * *

 

 

“Lux.”

Her breath hitched.

She was making her way home. She had to pass through the Ironspikes, and she took the merchant path, since it was both the safest and swiftest. She had to relay her findings to Jarvan immediately, had to tell them about the attack brewing--

This was the most unexpected place to run into him.

“Ezreal.”

She felt like crying. She couldn't do this now. She had to go, had to do her duty, had to...

She ran to him, and he met her halfway, arms enveloping her as she sobbed into his arms.

“What...?” He was concerned and confused, no doubt. He had no idea. He was probably just here to do more research. “Where were you?”

She sniffled.

“Nevermind.” He rested his chin on her head and rubbed her back reassuringly. His amulet was heavy on her back, but its weight was comforting.

She closed her eyes. She had to uphold her duty.

But she needed this.

 

* * *

 

 

“Don't go.”

“I have to.”

They'd talked about this already, argued so much. He knew her answer. She couldn't turn her back on her nation, not when they needed her. Noxus and Demacia's war was raging, and she had to help.

Ezreal licked his lips, unhappy.

“I'm sorry,” she said. But she did not relent. Her stance was firm, her eyes a blue fire. “But I have to.”

Silence engulfed them. Ezreal looked like he wanted to speak, but hadn't found the right words. So she waited with baited breath.

“I know you do,” Ezreal said finally. His eyes met hers. “Promise you'll come back.”

“I can't.”

He huffed, clearly frustrated.

“I'll try.”

He wrapped his arms around her suddenly.

“That's good enough.”

Their lips crashed, fervently this time. There was nothing tentative or sweet about it. The kiss was desperate, deep, full of longing, and too short.

She pulled away.

“Your eyes are pretty,” she said. He blinked, raising an eyebrow curiously. She kissed him deeply again. “Like blue Nexuses.”

He smiled at that.

 

* * *

 

 

“No.”

How had it come to this?

“So it was all a joke?”

She felt tears in her eyes.

“Some sick experiment for you?”

No, it wasn't like that, never had been, couldn't have been...

But his eyes would not meet hers, and the words slipped out of her mouth faster at his unceasing silence.

“You felt nothing? It wasn't real?” She laughed, a twisted, vile thing that bubbled out from somewhere in her abdomen and stained her cheeks pink. “Well, how very--”

“You can't blame me,” he said, with such force that he may as well have slapped her across the face. He grinned, and it was the same grin she knew, but he wouldn't look at her, wouldn't meet her eyes...!

“A pretty thing practically throwing herself at my feet? Honestly, Luxanna, what was I supposed to do?”

Another slap. Her birthname was as painful to her as the memories attached to her home, the home she'd been dragged from screaming and crying.

And here she was again. Screaming and crying.

_No,_ she thought vehemently. _Not again. I choose this time._

“Gods, Ez, no wonder they treat you like a God back in Piltover.” She felt herself sneer. It felt wrong. “Whatever you are, it's not human.”

That hurt. He blinked rapidly, muscles tensed so he wouldn't flinch from her words, but she saw their effect. She knew it was a sore spot for him. He looked pained, and betrayed.

Good.

“I hope you rot in those ruins you love so much,” she said. No, she didn't. She didn't want him to die, didn't want him to leave, but Gods, he wouldn't look at her, and she felt her fury spin out of her control, just like Valoran's political state had when the Institute came crashing to an untimely end three months ago. “Die with the dirt you love.”

“Dirt's better than you.”

How did he know exactly what to say to tear her down?

_Because you showed him just where to prod._

No. No, no, she would get the last word, even if their relationship was crashing to bits beneath her.

“At least I'm worth something.” She spun on her heel, magic already bending the light around her so that he wouldn't have the luxury of seeing her leave, wouldn't be graced by the tears that pooled and overflowed.

She was nearly gone when she heard him whisper, under his breath, as if he hadn't meant for her to hear.

“I'm so, so sorry.”

 

* * *

 

 

“What do you mean, he's gone missing?”

Caitlyn's face was pained.

“I already told you,” she replied to Lux's question. “I hoped you knew more than we do.” The sheriff's eyes shifted. “Thought he might be with you.”

“He never...” She trailed off, then started again. “I haven't seen him in weeks.”

“When was the last time?” asked Caitlyn.

Her chest clenched.

“I-It was...” She pursed her lips, willing the tears that wanted to well to leave.

“Quit the waterworks,” Caitlyn snapped. “I don't have the time to deal with whatever drama you two had. I just want to find my friend.”

“... The Ironspikes. We-we... I left him there.”

“No way he'd get lost there,” Caitlyn mumbled.

“He... He told me he'd never loved me,” she blurted out. “I was just asking, he'd always before, but then the world's been going to shit, and so did we, I guess. I... I told him... I said...” She looked, miserably, into Caitlyn's eyes. “If that's the last thing I told him and he... oh, Gods...”

Caitlyn looked concerned.

But not for her.

“He lied.” Caitlyn's eyes widened. “The ruins... Is he...?”

Lux blinked away her tears.

“What?”

Relief washed over her. He lied. He lied. It wasn't true.

_He wouldn't meet her eyes._

“Drat.” Caitlyn turned on her heel. Lux fell into step beside her as Caitlyn broke into a jog. “He's probably in the Freljord.”

Lux took in a deep breath. “Gods, that's a three week trip from here...” She trailed off.

“He probably made it in three days from the mountain range, if he left right after your lover's spat.”

There was no time to blush or argue.

“I'll get Summoners to take us,” Lux said. “We'll get there faster.” As their steps echoed down the long hallways of the Demacian palace, a structure golden and tall and strong, Lux couldn't help but feel small when she asked, “What is he doing there, anyway?”

_And why didn't he want me to come?_

“He mentioned something about a weapon. He thought Noxus was after it.”

Lux faltered.

“Noxus?”

Her memories swirled. She remembered Katarina's words, long ago.

How she'd mentioned it in passing to Ezreal when her reconaissance mission had come up in their conversation, just a few days before...

“Oh, Gods.”

 

* * *

 

 

It was frigid. She couldn't stand the cold, but she weathered it. They trudged through the snow, hoping to find him somewhere. She wasn't sure where.

Others had joined her and Caitlyn. The party was substantial.

They expected confrontation.

“Near here,” said their guide. Her black cape and snow-white hair flew wildly behind her as the wind picked up. “If he seeks something with dark essence, there is only one place that emits it in waves, and it is here.”

They made their way through the snow until a castle came into view, buried but still accessible through one of the towers jutting through the layers of snow.

Lux shivered.

It felt like no light reached the ancient structure.

 

* * *

 

 

Running. Pursuing.

This was the cat and mouse game they played, the one they knew well.

She couldn't help but grimace.

Her thighs burned from the running, but she didn't stop. She didn't have to turn to know she was being pursued. She threw a light binding behind her.

A doorway came into sight, and she threw herself inside, throwing a light binding and lucent singularity at the figure approaching her.

Draven scowled at her as she slammed the doors closed in his face. She wasted no time; she had moments. She whirled around and had just enough time to take in her surroundings: a large chamber, probably a sleeping quarters once upon a time, with two doors on either side of the room.

Then the doorway splintered behind her. She did not make a sound, throwing another lucent singularity at Draven, and then dashed towards the door at the right.

She barely retracted her hand from the door's handle before an axe embedded itself in the wood of the door, in an angle that would have taken her arm off.

She threw a shield on herself and then shimmered out of his view.

He blinked, squinting at where she had stood.

She tip-toed to the door he'd busted down, and slowly, quietly started creeping out...

Draven turned sharply to the doorway and hurled his axes.

She stepped aside, but she couldn't dodge completely because of their proximity to one another; her left arm and leg sustained nasty gashes.

He saw the blood dripping off of her. She couldn't hide all of it along with her body.

She ran down the hallway, dodging the large axes that rolled back towards Draven's outstretched hands.

She didn't wait for them to reach him.

She murmered under her breath, and then stretched her arms forward, slipping into a steady stance.

She braced herself, then channeled the light around her into a single, dazzling beam that blasted Draven full-force.

She didn't stick around to see whether she'd killed him or not.

She ran again.

_Where is he?_

 

* * *

 

 

It was laughable, really. All that running and fighting, and she'd found Ezreal only to be caught by Darius. His axe was at her throat, and her baton slid uselessly across the floor from the force of Darius's kick, rolling to a stop near Ezreal.

“You want her to live, you hand it over.”

Trembling, Lux tried to gather light into her palms. Darius jostled her roughly; the axe sliced the skin of her neck. For a moment, terror seized her. But it was just a flesh wound. Nothing severed.

Darius was no idiot. He shifted he grip on her, putting her in a chokehold. She tried not to gasp as her airway was cut off. Weakness would not help.

She didn't dare look at Ezreal.

“Let her go first.”

Darius said nothing. His hold tightened, and this time Lux couldn't help it; her mouth opened, uselessly trying to gulp in air that simply couldn't reach her lungs properly. Little flickers of light began appearing in her eyes.

“Fine, but let her go.”

She heard Ezreal's amulet. It was a soft whir at first. She heard the shuffle of Ezreal's feet on the stone floors, heard him drop something haphazardly at Darius's feet. The amulet was louder now that he was closer.

“Good boy,” said Darius, flinging Lux to him. She gasped, her vision blanking for a moment. She felt Ezreal's arms holding her, and she frantically tried to stand, because she knew that this was the distraction Darius would need; he would pounce, and they were both sitting ducks--

The amulet let out a piercing sound, and Ezreal ungaciously dropped Lux.

She landed hard, still gathering her wits about her, and looked up in time to see a Trueshot Barrage fly through Darius's looming form above them. Ezreal's hand gripped her wrist, and then suddenly Darius was behind them, slamming into the ground. She stumbled to her feet, her hand clutching at Ezreal's arm, as he swept something – it looked like a gemstone – into his amulet hand, and then Arcane Shifted them forward again.

They ran.

 

* * *

 

 

She laughed.

“We're going to die here.”

The storm outside had picked up. The others had left with the Summoners, but Draven's axe had sliced through her side, and both she and Ezreal had instinctively relinquished their grips on the other Champions around them. They were stranded.

They had managed to find their way outside the tower again, and hadn't looked to see if they were being pursued into the blizzard. They ran together.

“Maybe.” Ezreal pulled her close, and she winced, hissing in pain. “Hang on, I have some alcohol.”

“The drinking kind or the antiseptic kind?” she asked jokingly. Her breathing was far more labored than his. Her clothes were caked in her own blood.

“Which do you think?” he asked, pulling out a small vial filled with clear liquid.

She inhaled slowly, ignoring the searing pain in her side as best she could. It was so cold...

She bit her hand when he poured the liquid onto her wound, letting out a high-pitched whine.

They huddled by an outcrop of rocks that had been nearby the tower. Ezreal had wasted no time pulling her down to sit and treat her wound. She had resisted at first, insisting they needed to get more distance between them, but Ezreal wouldn't hear of it.

She took a shuddering breath and leaned onto Ezreal's shoulder as he yanked bandages from his pack and wrapped them around her wound as best he could. She felt her eyelids fluttering.

“Don't sleep.” Ezreal's voice was soft, and raspy from the fighting and screaming. “Lux, don't fall asleep.”

“I'll try.”

“he kissed her gently.

“That's good enough.”

 

* * *

 

 

“You tossed it into the Howling Abyss?”

“After breaking it into tiny pieces,” Lux confirmed.

“Itty bitty ones,” Ezreal added.

Jarvan IV laughed.

“It's better than it falling into Noxian hands, I guess,” he said. “Good thing Ashe found you there, or you might've wandered back into trouble.”

“I think I've had enough of Noxians to last me a lifetime,” groaned Ezreal. Lux sighed, nodding.

“Go rest,” Jarvan said. “I can't tell you what to do,” he said to Ezreal, “but Lux, consider it an order.”

“You don't have to tell me twice,” she replied.

 

* * *

 

 

She jerked awake, terrified.

Ezreal stirred beside her.

“What's wrong?” he slurred sleepily.

“Nothing,” she lied.

“Nightmare?”

She couldn't fool him.

He sat up, and she pursed her lips while he rubbed the sleep from his eyes.

“About what?” he asked.

“Nothing, really,” she said.

“Lux...”

She sighed. This was not the hour for lies.

“I dreamed... That I was ...” She trailed off, gathering her thoughts. “Remember when Darius caught me in the Freljord?”

Ezreal nodded.

“I dreamed that it... It was you instead,” she said. “He killed you.” She felt herself trembling, in spite of herself. “And right before he did it, you met his eyes. Then I realized my perspective.” She took a steadying breath. “It was me. I killed you.”

Ezreal was silent for a moment, and then he gently pulled her into an embrace.

“It's because of that time in the Ironspikes.” It wasn't a question.

“I know you just didn't want me coming after you,” she said, “And I know it's silly because you were only doing it to protect me, but...” She cupped his cheek in her palm. “But, Gods, Ezreal, you knew it was suicide to go alone.” She felt like crying, but she refused to let herself cry over a nightmare. “Why would you do that?”

Ezreal sighed.

“I didn't really think it through,” he admitted. “But there was no time. I knew they had the advantage of time, and I couldn't let them get to that relic.”

“You were willing to die just because you hate Noxus that much?”

Ezreal frowned in the darkness of their room.

“Partly, but...” He rubbed a hand up and down her arm, sending a shiver down her spine. “I was willing to die because I didn't want them to use it to hurt anyone.” His blue eyes softened. “To hurt you.”

Lux let out a breath she hadn't known she'd been holding.

“It's not a great reason,” she said.

“I know,” Ezreal replied.

Lux lied back down slowly, pulling on Ezreal's hand until he did, too. She curled into his chest.

“It's really not a great reason,” she repeated. “She leaned her head back to meet his eyes.

“I kno--”

She kissed him gently on his lips.

“But it's good enough.”

 


	2. Life

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He's barely breathing, and she can't lose him.

She can't find him.

The battle was so hard. She's covered in blood. Some of it is hers. (Most of it is not.) Her armor is dented and chipped, discolored in some places by the magic that had been flung at her and around her. (Some of it to save lives, some of it to kill them.) Her hair is matted, her eyes flutter, trying to keep awake and alert, and her limbs scream in pain and exhaustion. Her feet throb. She feels every beat of her heart in her feet, the pulsing of blood through her body. 

It hurts.

(She wonders how much more it hurts when the blood can't circulate. When it just pumps out and out and out.)

But she presses on. Her eyes rake across the field. Blood is everywhere. (So are bodies.) She looks and looks for familiar faces.

Her own blue eyes meet a paler, more steely blue, and her heart stops.

"Lux!"

The pain in her feet is gone, and she finds herself running, flinging herself into his arms.

"Ezreal, you're okay!"

"Lux, stop." His voice is hoarse. (Like hers.) He sounds tired. And sad. "Stop. Listen."

She pulls away, and something somewhere -- in her heart, or maybe in her mind -- prickles with worry, flutters with fear. (Like always.)

"What's wrong?" she asks. Her voice doesn't waver. (Because she's still in battle mode, even in the aftermath, and fear means defeat; she can't afford to lose.)

He gulps, and then his hand, which is gripping hers, tightens.

They suddenly disappear, reappearing a short distance farther from where they had stood before. She barely realizes they've Arcane Shifted before she's being pulled along by Ezreal. They run, and even though questions are running through her mind and her heart is pounding with worry, she says nothing. (She isn't sure she wants to know.)

But she doesn't have to.

They approach the front of the battlefield, the frontlines.

She knows now, and before Ezreal can say anything else, she relinquishes his hand and runs with all her strength.

She drops at her brother's side.

It's bad. There's blood everywhere, and it's pouring from so many places. But the most obvious one is the circle of blood gathering around the broken fragments of his breastplate armor. (Right below where his heart is.)

He wasn't impaled; no mere weapon could have pierced such thick armor. Her gloved fingers hover over the wound. She senses the remnants of magic still at the surface, and can feel the rest of it pulsing through her brother's veins, tainting his blood with every round it makes through his body.

His breathing is labored.

"Garen," she breathes. (She can't speak, or her voice will tremble, and she doesn't dare show her terror, especially not in front of the one person she wanted to prove her fearlessness to.) "Garen, hang on."

"Luxanna?" Her brother's eyes flutter open, lids heavy. She can barely make out the blue of his eyes. The same shade as her own. (The only feature they truly share.)

"Garen, I'm here." She can't touch the wound. She has blood on her hands, and contaminating his wound would only make it worse. "Hang on, Garen."

She has to do this without contact.

Ezreal crouches opposite her, silent. She has so many questions -- how did he know, and why did he come get her instead of a medic? -- but they will wait.

She cups her hands and lets her own magic drip from her fingertips. Bright droplets of liquid sunshine fall all around Garen's wound, seep into the opening. He lets out a tiny hiss of pain. She apologizes, but doesn't stop the flow of magic. She chants a powerful healing spell in her head, repeating it over and over and over. 

The effect isn't instantaneous. It takes a few minutes of tiring work. But eventually, she feels her own magic disintegrate the other source in Garen's blood, feels the dangerous magic fade away into nothing, absorbed and neutralized by her own. Then she chants a different spell aloud, drawing her fingers back and forth, as if she is playing a harp. (Her mind almost wanders back to her childhood, to when her mother made her take music lessons, but she stops the train of thought -- she has to focus.)

Slowly, her magic rises from the wound, pumping out of the wound with every pulse of her brother's heart. She has to get every drop of magic out. Nearly any magic is poison to the bloodstream if left alone long enough. She can't risk leaving it inside him.

But he's also losing blood. She only neutralized the menacing magic. She didn't close the wound.

Yet.

Her brother's breathing is shallow. She tries to move as fast as she possibly can, but it takes so, so, so long. Finally, all the magic is out, and she doesn't bother re-absorbing it. She lets it fall haphazardly onto the beaten grass beside her. (If mingles with the blood caking the grass. She doesn't stop to wonder whose blood it belongs to.)

"This will sting a bit," she says, and before anyone can ask, before Garen can register what she's said, she places her hands together just above the wound and blasts it with a small burst of light, a miniature Final Spark.

His skin sizzles, and Garen groans in pain. Ezreal is so startled that he flinches, pulling back a bit. 

But the wound is cauterized, and that's all that matters to Lux. She looks around desperately for something not covered in blood, and her eyes fall on the scarf around her brother's neck, which is surprisingly clean-looking despite the battle it's seen. She rips off a part of it -- Garen protests, but his words are weak, and she doesn't care -- and wraps it around a smaller wound of his, a slash along the exposed skin where his right gauntlet should have been. (She doesn't know where he lost that piece of his armor, but at this point, she's just grateful the cut isn't too deep.) She ties it tightly, and then she sits back on her legs, her hands clenching tightly as she places them on her knees.

She waits.

"A bit?" Garen says finally. "That hurt a lot."

She feels like laughing. (But she can't, because then she also might cry.)

"I had to do it," she says instead.

Garen tries to sit up.

Hands gently press down on his shoulders. Ezreal holds her brother down.

"You can't," he says. "Not yet."

Garen sighs.

"Thank you," he says to Ezreal. The Prodigal Explorer nods, pulling back to sit down.

It doesn't take much for Lux to put two and two together.

"You asked for me?" she asks, barely above a whisper. (Whispering would show fear; talking loudly would show emotion.)

"Yeah." Her brother winces. "I wanted... Just in case I..."

She allows herself to smile. (Her heart floods with love and happiness, because this is the first time since they were children that he wanted her attention, and not the other way around.)

"In case what?" she asks.

"Well," Garen says. "It's doesn't matter now."

Words unspoken fly between the two of them.

Finally, medics find their way through the battlefield to them, and they hastily place her brother on a cot and rush him to the infirmary tent for better medical attention.

She wants to follow, but she doesn't. (Because as much as she wants to, she also doesn't.)

Ezreal comes to stand beside her.

"I didn't know it was him at first," Ezreal says, after the medics are long gone, and night approaches, stars beginning to creep into the darkness of the sky. (Smaller lights to replace the fading sunlight.) "But he... He called for you, so I..." Ezreal trails off.

Ezreal isn't scared of showing fear. He isn't scared of letting people hear the tremors in his voice, see the trembling of his fists, see the worry and exhaustion etched all over his face.

 

"He told me to bring you. So I ran, and it took a while, and I was kind of starting to panic, because I couldn't see you anywhere, and..." He trails off again.

"You did find me," she says softly. (She wants to grasp his hand to reassure him. But she can't. She doesn't dare.)

"I know, but..." Ezreal shook his head. "Never mind."

For a moment, the fading light glinted off of Ezreal's hair. (It looked like his hair was drenched in blood.)

(She knows exactly what he was worried about.)

"Thank you."

He smiles at her. It's a genuine smile. (How can he smile like that, after today? She can barely breathe. The cold fear that gripped her when she recognized the blue scarf she gave her brother when he joined the military, the terror that threatened to consume her when she saw the blood, felt that magic inside his body... How could anyone smile like that?)

"No worries." (Liar.) "I'm glad you're okay." (Wrong. He's so wrong. She's not okay, never has been. Hasn't been since she overheard her mother, that one day after school. She isn't okay.)

"I'm glad you're okay, too," she says. 

(How can she say that? Her brother almost died. How can she be so relieved, so genuinely happy?)

(But she is, and somehow, it's okay. Nobody ever told her how to feel. They told her how to fight, how to infiltrate and lie and steal and cheat and kill. They told her what to say and what to wear, how to carry herself, and what to show on her face. To love the King above all other people, to love her city-state more than her own life.)

(But they never told her what to feel, inside her mind, or inside her heart.)

They stand under twinkling stars, and even though the sunlight is almost gone, she feels her own heart glow with its own light.

(And it's okay.)

(Everything will be okay.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is dedicated to my best friend, who attempted suicide and is still struggling with depression. I love you like a sibling. I'm so proud of you, and I trust you, no matter what.


	3. Safe

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She doesn't need salvation; his arms feel like home.

She was unused to being held by arms other than her own. It was a sensation she had nearly forgotten but dearly missed: a warm embrace from someone who cared for her. When she had been small, toddling and clapping and happy, her mother would hold her tenderly, back before she became too wound up in politics and popularity to care for her daughter; when she had been six and brilliant and curious, and her brother had scooped her into his arms and twirled her around while she squealed in joy, back before he became too absorbed in the thrill of battle and the beckoning of duty to protect his little sister any longer.

She used to cry herself to sleep often, arms curled around her shoulders, legs drawn upwards to her chest, She would rock herself late into the night and then early into the morning, voice trembling with sobs and so, so much fright.

She was older now, too old to believe in her mother's love and too wise to hope for her brother's aid. There was no salvation that could bring peace to a shattered murderer, no god that could erase the sins she had committed in the name of peace.

So it was with mixed feelings - surprise, happiness, and the creeping unrest in the pit of her stomach called fear - that she received Ezreal's hug. It was dark outside, as it always had to be when they met, because she was a noble and he was a rebel and they were not supposed to love each other. She hadn't seen him in months; she had been away, sneaking around Noxus yet again for evidence of inherent evil that just simply wasn't there.

He didn't know that, of course; there was no possible way for him to be privy to such sensitive knowledge.

He had hugged her simply because he had missed her while she was gone, and now she was back.

Oh, she was terrified. Of losing him, of losing this, of losing her title, her family, her life. She was scared of losing so many things. Of losing everything. The more she loved him, the more she stood to lose. She would be better off to cut him out of her life completely, to turn her nose up and walk past him and pretend he meant nothing to her, like she did when she swept past the guards at the Royal Palace to hide her fear of another perilous, pointless assignment.

But Ezreal's arms were warm and strong and safe. There hadn't been anything that felt safe to her since the last night she'd slept peacefully in her childhood bed, naively faithful that her brother would keep her safe from anything and that her mother would always love her. But Ezreal had never promised her anything, had always shrugged off the honor she was shackled by, and maybe that was why he had managed to find a place in her heart all his own.

She wanted to laugh at his appearance: uncombed hair, ragged clothes, dirty boots, heart-wrenching grin.

He smelled like dusty books and felt like home.

She didn't need salvation.

She just needed him.

xoxoxox

 

**I deleted the first chapter of this story on ffnet. I'm preserving it on here, though! :) AND you have the extra chapter 2 that isn't on that site. so. yeah. i like ao3's format better ahaha.**

**Lemme know what you think. I hope you still enjoy this one-shot-drabble thing.**

**xoxoPigTails**


	4. She's No Debutante

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She's holding on to something, and he loves to dig up secrets.

She generally looks like a debutante. Bright, shiny blonde hair, immaculate skin, brilliant, wide smile. She holds herself properly: legs crossed, hands folded, eyes attentive, head nodding. It's like she doesn't even know what slouching is. She even cups a hand in front of her mouth to giggle politely when she's engaged in small talk. Her armor is always clean and polished, her hair is always in perfect order,and her words are witty but always politically correct, carefully construed so as to ensure she talks lots but never really says anything at all.

It's comical, really, that anyone even falls for her charade to begin with. Her smile, her words, her body language - they're al too perfect. It's like watching an actor deliver the perfect performance, only they don't honestly care at all about the show, and you can tell because everything they do or say is just a little bit  _off_ , a little too rehearsed. Like it's just a mechanical response.

She's holding on to something, and he loves to dig up secrets.

He still hasn't found it yet. Not after years of knowing her. It's like trying to shovel past bedrock. Some things just aren't meant to be, and even if they are, they need time to weather, to break into palpable pieces.

He's found out plenty of other things, though. For instance:

She hates shiny things. Loathes them. She complained to him privately once that she hated getting jewelry as gifts, because what was the  _point_  of wearing silver or diamonds when they could fall off and get lost so easily? Oh, and they were  _far_  too dull to be so highly valued, and what on  _Earth_  was the point in valuing something that simply glittered prettily?

She likes spellbooks. Reads them cover to cover, not resting until she's absorbed the whole thing into her pretty, blonde head. She babbles on and on about any topic in there that caught her attention or piqued her interest. He brought her an ancient book from Shurima once. It was so worn and old and dusty that half the text on the pages was essentially illegible. She didn't care. She pieced together what she could, and went on for  _days_  about how exquisite and ingenious the author's recorded spells were.

She respects Noxians. It's surprising in some ways, because she's a Crownguard, a Demacian, a sworn enemy to anything that even smells vaguely Noxian; but it's also not surprising at all, because she's a spy, and she's spent months in Noxus and years wearing a Noxian mask, and she knows that beneath the facades, they're only human, too. She doesn't make excuses for their assasins or wars. But she acknowledges their strength and determination, finds solace in the fact that they are also unwavering in the face of duty, and she respects their livelihoods as much as she does his own. When she explains it, he wonders if she's really on to something, after all.

Most importantly to him, though: She  _loves_  to hear about his adventures. She envies his freedom, his lack of fealty to anything and (almost) anyone, and she longs to pursue knowledge without the shackles of appearances and justice yanking her backwards. She hangs on his every word, and gasps at every twist or turn, and begs for more when his tales are done.

So he indulges her, because watching her when he weaves his embellished stories is like watching mist fade. He can finally see the shore for what it really is.

And it's not the sandy beach she promises. Oh, no. It's jagges cliffs and deadly rocks and undercurrents,  _so_  many undertows to pull you under.

And he'll admit it, it's hard not to get swept up in them, not to get drowned in her fury and fear, and it's even harder not to get swept away by her ardor, her laughter. The fire in her eyes when he fights bandits, the shivers down her spine when he fells demons. The intensity she exhumes is ridiculous, and he can't get enough of it, so he drags his tales on and on, far past the sunset and well into midnight, until the only lights outside are stars and gauntlets and bright, wide eyes looking back into his.

She doesn't lie to him, and he can sometimes see her for who she is: a girl, and a fighter, and a bundle of feelings and hopes laid bare for him to grasp. She's no debutante, no princess, and she's no charade, no hidden treasure.

She's Lux. Lux with the blue eyes and the stupid laugh and the stupider selflessness.

And he'd be lying if he said he loved her any less for it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thought I'd share this with you guys. I'm done with exams for a while, so I wrote a one-shot to celebrate. :) 
> 
> xoxoPigTails


End file.
